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The Sad Sack Dance
I met him by the roadside
Standing tall with shoulders wide
He smoked a fag I couldn’t abide
And asked me if I’d come inside
A dull linguistic polymer
A tiresome interlocutor
Who cares when promiscuity
Rears its head, it grins and tempts me
Unknown and hardly trusting
Inside the room we fornicate in
In and out, in and out
Breathing, fucking, no room for doubt
...Friday 3rd October 2025 10:33 pm

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